Page 55 of Whispers of You
That fire lit, swirling deep and burning everything in its wake. “And I didn’t.”
My dad looked me straight in the eye. “You didn’t. And you need to face that. It won’t be easy. But you have to find a way to take ownership of your actions while having empathy for the boy who was scared out of his mind.”
“Not sure you can have both of those things.” From a very clinical viewpoint, I saw why I’d made the choices I had. But the self-hatred was such a loud drumbeat in the back of my skull.
“You have to let yourself feel both. Don’t run away from it.” He leaned back in his chair. “I haven’t been great with talking to you kids about that kind of thing. It wasn’t what I was taught growing up. But running from it just ends up hurting us all.”
“Like running from the fact that you were pissed as hell at me.”
The corners of his mouth tipped up. “That might’ve been building for some years.”
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
“No. I needed to let myself feel that anger and then tell you about it. Tell you that I was hurt you didn’t find a way to spend more time with us. With me. Instead, I let it build. When I had my heart attack, it scared the hell out of me. All I could think about was all the wasted time. How I had this grown son that I barely knew.”
Guilt gnawed at my insides. The idea of my father battling this guilt while recovering from two major surgeries had self-hatred flaring to life again. “Dad…”
“There are two people in this relationship. We are both responsible for saying what we want. And what I want is a relationship with my son. A real one. One where we’re honest, even if it hurts.”
“I’d say you’ve been honest lately.”
My dad winced. “Okay, we’re honest but we do it with a little more kindness and grace.”
I took him in, reading nothing but honesty in his face. “I’d like that.”
He clamped a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Good. Now, tell me what the hell is going on with some creep loitering around Wren’s house.”
18
WREN
The lightsin the break room hummed as I stared at the coffee spilling into my mug. I willed it to magically have more caffeine. Okay, something more than caffeine—maybe just shy of cocaine. Shoving the pot back under the drip, I poured creamer into the inky blackness.
Amber strode in wearing street clothes and grabbed a takeout container from the fridge. She let out a low whistle as she took me in. “Rough night?”
“That obvious?”
She winced. “Just look a little tired.”
“Didn’t get the best sleep.” Understatement of the century. Maybe I could get one of the EMTs to give me an IV and pour the coffee directly into it.
“You didn’t have any more incidents at your place, did you?”
I tried to hide my wince. Small town. Working for the department. Nothing was private. “No, nothing like that.”
Not unless you counted an overbearing ex-boyfriend and nosy friends.
“Good.” Amber idled for a moment. “I’m off the rest of the day and tonight. If you’d feel better with someone at your place tonight, just give me a call.”
I had to fight the urge to rear back. It wasn’t that Amber was ever rude to me, it was that I could feel her grief every time she was forced to be in my presence. The fact that she would even offer to come and stay said a heck of a lot about her character. “Thanks, Amber. I really appreciate that.”
“No problem.” She gave me a sort of half wave and headed for the door.
I leaned back against the counter and took a long drink of my coffee. “Please give me a miracle,” I whispered into my cup.
“Talking to beverages now? Should I be worried?”
My gaze snapped up at the familiar, raspy tone. But I wished I hadn’t looked. Holt wore workout shorts that hung low on his hips and a T-shirt that clung to every ridge of muscle. I swallowed. Hard. “What are you doing here?”
